Servatis A Maleficum
by Hev99
Summary: As a deadly plague sweeps across the country and the King wages his war in the Holy Land, a young stone mason's son dreams of becoming a knight. Entering the service of Lord Aro, he instead finds himself guarding the dungeons where, it is said, a powerful witch is being held. Will he find more there than he bargained for? AH Rated M for violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Happy birthday, Cris. This is for you. **

**No copyright infringement intended. All the characters belong to Stephanie Meyer. I'm just playing with them. **

**Chapter 1**

The rain lashed down on me, soaking through every layer of my clothing and chilling me right to the bones. The horses' hooves and the wheels of the carriage threw up mud and water from the sodden ground as we churned our way closer and closer to the castle gates. I slid around hopelessly on the seat beside the driver, wishing my meagre earnings could have purchased me passage _inside _the carriage. As it was, however, it just barely scraped me a seat beside the driver, bracing myself against the heavenly onslaught.

Lights flickered in the windows in the distance, beckoning me in with the promise of warmth and shelter from the infernal rain that hadn't stopped since I left my home, hours earlier.

As I shrunk deeper into my cloak, seeking respite from the heavy drops that seemed to slice through my skin, my mind drifted back to my home and the goodbyes I exchanged with my parents there. My father, stoically determined to show no emotion as he pressed a small bundle into my hands containing some food for the journey and the silver pocket watch he had always promised would be mine someday. He had tried so hard to talk me out of this, to convince me to stay home and work with him as a stone mason. But I was determined.

The war in the Holy Land raged on and every strong, God-fearing man wanted to fight. All my life I had dreamed of being a knight. I saw them leaving, bearing the standard of the king and setting sail for the east to fight in his holy war against the ungodly souls there and I longed to be one of them.

My mind was filled with images of glorious battles, with the swords of great knights glinting and shining in the eastern sun, and I visualised returning home to the glory and triumph of a victory parade.

With those pictures filling my mind, I was able to shrug off the rain that seeped through my clothes and ran in thick drops down my neck. I would prove to my father that I was capable of more than he ever believed. I would make something of myself far more glorious than a lowly stone mason.

As the carriage rattled and splashed its way down the muddy roads, the castle of Lord Aro finally came into view. There I would enter the service of the crown, becoming a royal guard and a man my mother could be proud of.

The drawbridge lowered with a thunderous roar, allowing the carriage to pass, stopping briefly at the guard station before passing under the frightening looking portcullis and into the castle grounds. I shuddered slightly at the sight of the iron death traps, wondering if it would one day be my fate to meet such an end as they could provide. The images of battle in my head, strangely enough, held no hint of bloodshed or death, just clean, shining swords, held aloft in victory.

They were the mindless imaginings of a child, I realised with a jolt. Not the thoughts of a man employed in the service of the king and the Pope, to fight in their holy war.

"Are you plannin' on sittin' there 'til this rain washes you clean away, lad?" The gruff voice of the driver broke through my silent musings and forced me back to the present.

I paid the man, who merely nodded his thanks, appraising me with a curious expression as though wondering what a boy - _man, _I corrected myself - like me was doing in such a place.

"Mason?" A voice called out behind me, barely audible above the howling of the wind and the clattering of the retreating carriage. I hesitated for a moment as the heavy, iron purtcullis slammed home behind it with a finality that made my ears ring.

"You there. You're either the new guard, Mason, or you're trespassing on Lord Aro's lands. What's it to be?"

"Oh, that's me. Sorry," I added as an afterthought, not at all keen on the way that the soldier's eyes scanned me up and down, almost scornfully.

He was tall and thick set, his muscles practically forcing their way through the chain mail suit he wore, and his expression as he looked at me was almost a sneer.

"Well come on then. We don't have all night and some of us stand a chance of going to bed tonight."

He turned on his heel, walking briskly towards a large, oak door that opened when he pounded his thick fist against it three times. I fought to keep up with him, tugging my small bag of belongings over my shoulder hastily.

As the door closed behind me, finally sheltering me from the elements, the stranger remover his helmet, revealing wide, grey eyes, set in a round face beset with scars. His thick, dark hair hung limply around his face, too long, surely, to be practical.

"You'll have to do as you are. You're already late, there's no time to dry off. You'd better hope His Lordship is in good humour this eve."

I suppressed a shudder at the foreboding expression on the face of the still nameless man, and followed him as he led the way through endless stone passageways, dimly lit by occasional flaming torches hanging on the walls.

Finally he stopped before another large set of doors, took me in one last time, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, before knocking and entering.

The man sitting in the throne-like chair on the raised platform before me wore his power and wealth like a cloak. It just seemed to ooze from him and the smirk on his lips told me that he was more than well aware of it.

"What's this?" he asked, his question directed to the guard who still stood beside me. Lord Aro's eyes scanned briefly up and down my person before his lip curled in a disapproving sneer.

"Mason, my lord," he replied, his voice much less sure and confident now he was in the presence of Lord Aro.

"A guard?" he asked, the question clearly rhetorical. "You brought a prison guard here to me? I hardly think that was necessary, do you?"

"No, my lord," the nameless man stammered, looking flustered. He hesitated.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Take him to his post and, for the love of all that's holy, dry him off before he begins work."

With that, Lord Aro waved his hand in dismissal and then turned to speak with the man standing to his right. I followed the fumbling guard to the door, wordlessly, though questions were flying around my head like hornets.

A prison guard? I had been led to believe I would be training to serve in the Holy Land alongside the king's knights, fighting in the crusades. But, sure enough, the guard stomped away before me, not pausing to ensure I was following. He led me down seemingly endless corridors lined with elaborate tapestries, down stone stairwells deeper and deeper into the castle.

We stopped, briefly, just long enough for me to dry off and change into the chain-mail uniform, emblazoned with both the crest of the king and that of Lord Aro, before we set off once again in the silence that hung heavily all around me.

The deeper into the castle we walked, the gloomier it became. Torches still hung flaming on the walls, but the tapestries were all gone now. The walls were solid stone, a monotony broken only by the torches that lit our path.

The mail armour clinked uncomfortably around me as I wriggled my shoulders at the unfamiliar weight. As we approached a narrow flight of stairs that dropped steeply downwards, I could feel the chill creeping up from below and pulled my cloak tighter around me.

"You'll need this," my guide spoke, his voice echoing in the eerie silence as he thrust a burning torch into my hand. "Tell Alec you're there to relieve him. _Do not _converse with the prisoner, unless you wish to be bewitched."

My eyes widened at his words, but he gave me no time to ask questions before turning on his heel and leaving me there, standing lamely in the semi-darkness, willing myself to brave the steps. _Bewitched, _he said. My mind drifted down those stone steps as my legs locked into place beneath me, wondering what I would see if I were to force myself down there. My parents had warned me of the dangers of witches and their craft since I was a young child, listening wide eyed to their tales of sorcery and the evils it wrought on the land. I shuddered violently, but finally summoned my courage, realising I had no choice but to proceed. I made my way clumsily down the steps, shrinking deeper and deeper into my cloak as the chill pervaded every layer of my clothing.

At the bottom of the steps I was met with a small clear area, surrounded on three sides by dank, bare looking cells, with thick, steel bars running from floor to ceiling. At first glance it appeared that all three cells were empty with only a small amount of straw littering the floor of each and a wooden bucket standing in the corner. Looking closer though, I spotted a small figure, huddled in the furthest corner of the cell to my right.

I had no sooner spotted it than a hand clamped down on my shoulder and a voice hissed in my ear, "Don't even look at it. You don't want to know what happened to the last guy that made eye contact with it."

"It?" I whispered, taken aback at the word.

"The only way to describe it. The sooner it burns, the better. This fair trial nonsense is insanity. When it comes to witchcraft, they should burn first and think later."

I held my tongue, keeping my opinions to myself and merely nodded in response. Alec, I presumed, handed me a ring of keys and a lantern, taking the flaming torch from me and leaving me with only the sounds of dripping water and scratching rats for company. I had no idea how long I would be there or what I was supposed to do to pass the time. I supposed it didn't really matter, so long as the prisoner remained where she was, and she certainly didn't show any signs of movement.

Caving to my own cursed curiosity, I glanced once more in the direction of the small figure that seemed to be squeezed as tightly as possible into the corner and covered inadequately with the flimsiest of blankets. The only part of her not covered by the blanket was her head, which was instead covered by a rush of dark curls that were matted together untidily and hiding any part of her face from view. I felt some of the tension melting away from my muscles, finding it almost impossible to be afraid of something that looked so pitiful.

As time ticked by, marked only by the hourly clanging of the bell in the clock tower, I grew bored with the endless hours of nothingness. I almost wished that this supposed witch would move or do _something, _but she remained just as she was, almost motionless. The only signs that she was even alive were the rough sounds of her breathing and the almost invisible way that her body trembled in the cold. The boy my mother raised to be a gentleman wanted to offer her my cloak as a shield against the cold, but Alec's words echoed around my mind, warning me of the fate of the last man who made eye contact with this creature.

I shifted my eyes away, shuddering at the possibilities in my mind, and focused instead on anything else that could hold my attention for even the smallest amount of time. By the time light started filtering down the stairwell from above, I know how many stone bricks there were in the walls, how many bars on the cells and how many flecks there were carved into the stone by former prisoners. Somehow, I couldn't see this particular prisoner carving anything into anything. She had been almost completely motionless for the entire night, though I somehow couldn't believe that she was sleeping sitting in that uncomfortable position.

After what felt like a lifetime of nothingness, I heard a clanking at the top of the stairwell, telling me of somebody's presence there. I may have imagined it, but I would swear that the prisoner jumped a little and pulled in impossibly tighter to her corner at the sound.

Footsteps sounded out on the stone steps and, after a moment, three guards appeared clad in the same chain mail as me. One of them was holding what looked like a set of manacles and leg irons.

Alec, the guard from the previous night, grabbed the keys from my unsuspecting hand and began to open the cell, the other two guards crowding in behind him. I heard a soft whimpering sound as Alec forced a black fabric bag over the woman's head, tying it almost cruelly tightly around her neck.

"Silence, witch," he hissed at her as her wrists and ankles were forced savagely into the restraints they brought down with them. The whimpering stopped, replaced only by the clanking sounds of the metal as she was dragged from the cell, her body limp in their harsh hands.

"Where are you taking her?" I asked quietly, unsure whether it was my place to ask.

"_It _is being taken for itsdaily session with the priests. Didn't you know? Lord Aro is a big believer in _rehabilitation." _

The way he spat the word rehabilitation sent shivers down my spine and the trembling of the body in their hands did nothing to reassure me that what they were doing was in any way designed to save this woman's soul.

"You're off duty, Mason. Felix will show you to where you can clean off. Be back here at twilight. You'll be needed again once the priests are done with it."

Two of the guards then continued to drag the prisoner away, where the clanging of her restraints against the stone steps was almost unbearably loud. I shuddered at the thought of how it must feel to be wearing them, but forced the thought from my mind. After all, they didn't arrest people for no reason. She must have done something truly alarming to be on trial for witchcraft.

Felix, the remaining guard, a tall man with black hair and dark eyes that glowered at me as though they could read my thoughts, led me along corridor after corridor, winding through the castle at dizzying speed until we entered a long room with long troughs full of ice cold water down the centre and pallets made up as beds along the edges.

Pointing to a pallet about halfway along on the left hand side, he barked, "That's where you'll sleep. This is where you wash. Any questions?"

"I, uh... No. Thank you," I responded, my mind filled with questions I wanted to ask, but not liking the threatening look in his eyes enough to risk it.

"Twilight," he reminded me before leaving me alone in the room.

Finally alone, _completely _alone, I allowed myself to think about my situation for the first time since my arrival here. This wasn't at all what I had bargained for when I accepted the position, but, regardless, it was a job in Lord Aro's guard and who knew where it would take me in the end, if I remained faithful and hardworking.

Exhausted, I sat down on the pallet, rubbing my hazy eyes tiredly. I needed to sleep having been awake all night. I could feel the tiredness seeping into my bones that were beginning to ache from the cold and the tension in the air all around me. First, I stripped off, glancing at the doorway warily every few moments as I washed myself in the freezing cold water. I felt better for being clean at least as I pulled my undergarments back on and crawled onto the slightly hard bed, pulling a blanket around me.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing but Cloakward's cloak and a guilty conscience for taking so long to post. The rest belongs to Stephanie Meyer. **_

_**A/N: This chapter is for Packy Pie from Twitter who was so sweet I couldn't not update for her. **_

_**Thanks for all the alerts for the story. I'll do my best to update more consistently but real life is a demanding mistress who never leaves me alone. Thank you for your patience. :) **_

* * *

**Servatis A Maleficum**

**Chapter 2**

I slept fitfully, my rest disturbed repeatedly by disturbing images of a faceless woman, who ceased to be a stranger the moment I awoke. It was painfully clear who she was to my conscious mind as the scenes from my nightmares played over and over. I cringed as I finally redressed in my uniform, pulling the tunic emblazoned with the Royal Standard over my chain mail. The only way I could dispel the anxiety that had built up in my chest was to see her again, to try to force myself to believe that the flashing pictures of her being tortured were not real.

Shivering, I pulled on my cloak and shrunk into its warmth, knowing that as cold as I was now, it was going to be so much worse when I got back down to the dungeons.

Thinking of the cold, dank prisons immediately shifted my thoughts once again to the single prisoner under my guard. I had yet to see her face, but it was plain that she was small and completely at our mercy. If she really was a witch, why didn't she use her craft to free herself, to get away from the situation she found herself in?

Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed the passage of time as I sat on the end of my new bed, until the deep tolling of the bell reminded me that I was due back on duty and had almost no idea how to find my way back to the dungeons.

Navigating my way back was more difficult that I'd imagined, until I spotted a familiar tapestry and, sighing with relief, managed to find my way with some daylight still to spare.

The cells looked ever so slightly less menacing and a tiny bit more pleasant in the fading daylight that managed to find its way down there, but the small stool I had spent the night occupying looked less than appealing so I stood and waited for any sign of movement on the stairs. I was eventually rewarded by the familiar clanking sounds and then the sight of two unfamiliar guards with the prisoner, once again restrained and hooded, carried between them. A third guard, walking behind them, stepped around and opened up her cell, then the guard who held her simply dropped her to the ground where she landed with a painful thud but made no other sound. It wasn't until they stepped back that I realised why. She was unconscious.

The restraints remained on her wrists and ankles, but the hood had been removed from her head. Seeing her face for the first time, I wanted to cry. Her pale skin was marred by painful looking cuts and her right eye was swollen almost completely shut with an ugly bruise flowering above it. Dressed only in a torn shift, it was easy to see that it was not only her face that had been hurt. Her arms were a patchwork of bruises and I could see raw, red marks around her wrists where the manacles had been forced on too tightly.

The keys were roughly thrust into my hands by a young looking guard. "You'll want to get the restraints off her before she wakes," he offered as parting advice before they left me alone with her once more.

"Right," I said to myself and the emptiness around me. "Right."

I stepped forward cautiously, unlocking the cell as silently as I could and stepping in, pulling the door closed behind me but not locking it. The last thing I wanted was to be locked in a cell with a witch, if indeed that's what she was.

Crouching down, I fumbled with the keys, starting at every sound her unconscious body made. I tried each key in the locks of her ankle restraints until I found the one that fitted. The thick, unyielding metal jumped apart with a click that echoed off the walls and I pulled the irons free of her legs that almost immediately curled up towards her body, as though she was protecting herself, even while unconscious. I shuddered at the sight of dried blood that had run down her legs, trying hard not to think about what could have caused it as I moved up to her wrists, working to find the key to free them. As I did, I could see her face more clearly and could have wept at the sight.

Her lips were dry and painfully chapped, as though she hadn't had enough water to drink, and the small areas of pale skin on her cheeks that remained un-marred were dry and peeling. Her eyes were pulled tightly together in a frown, even while unconscious and there were dried tear-tracks running down both her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my finger reaching out and tracing her sore lips absent mindedly. Witch or not, and there was no guarantee that she was, nobody deserved to be treated this way.

Seeing her shivering gently, I felt compelled to remove my warm cloak, forsaking my own comfort for the night, and wrapped it around her small body carefully. She began to stir as I pillowed her head on the blanket she had hidden behind the previous night and, at the small comfort, the tiniest smile appeared on her lips before the painful chapping caused her to wince and woke her sharply.

One eye flashed open immediately, the other straining against its swelling to open, too, and I was held in her gaze for the longest moment before I remembered Alec's words of the previous night and instantly averted my eyes.

I could feel her watching me as I slowly backed out of the cell and locked it behind me, keeping my gaze firmly on her covered body and not the eyes that seemed to scream to me for help. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't see a witch lying there. All I could see was a young woman who was beyond terrified and in more pain than I could possibly imagine.

The moment I sat down, tentatively, on the small stool, she began to attempt to move, her eyes still fixed on me as though she expected me to stop her. Each movement she made was followed by a soft yelp and her whole body seemed to wince in pain. At each pained whimper, her eyes shot up to mine, as though awaiting some admonishment for the sounds.

"It's okay," I offered in a whisper that seemed to freeze her whole body in alarm. "You can stay there. I won't hurt you, I promise."

Telling myself to stop being a coward, I forced my eyes to meet hers once again, and saw no evil there, only fear and distrust.

"You have my word," I reiterated, realising that promises probably meant very little to somebody in her position. She continued to watch me warily, but allowed her head to fall back down onto the make-shift pillow I improvised for her and pulled my cloak up more tightly around her, still shivering in the cold.

"Will you tell me your name?" I ventured, wondering if maybe some conversation would make the night go by faster. Her eyes remained on me but she didn't utter a word. Her expression was more one of confusion than anything else.

"I'm Edward," I offered hopefully, nodding and holding out my hand to her to tell her it was okay to speak, but that small movement made her flinch away so violently that I immediately retracted it.

I was just giving up hope of her providing me with any sort of company and resigning myself to another night of counting bricks when the smallest whisper of sound uttered from her lips. It was so quiet that I barely heard it but, encouraged, I sat forward, and asked her to repeat herself.

"Isabella, sir." Her voice was soft but I heard her this time. Her eyes had finally left mine and were looking instead at the stone ceiling above her, an expression of hopelessness filling every corner of her countenance.

"Isabella." I turned the name over and over on my tongue, earning myself confused glances from the cell. "Forgive me, miss, but you don't exactly look like a witch." I was on dangerous ground; I knew that. But as tired as I was, I couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth.

She didn't answer that, merely looked at me curiously, with confusion written all over her face, almost incredulity.

"Yes," I said with a laugh, reading her expression since she didn't appear inclined to speak. "I suppose you're right. What do witches look like?"

I couldn't be certain in the dim light, but I would swear that I saw the hint of a smile twitch at the corners of her mouth at that. Maybe she didn't look like a witch, but I was starting to see how people could believe themselves bewitched by her. I was certainly having trouble taking my eyes off her. Was that what they were warning me of? Was she enchanting me right now? Was she casting her spell over me, lulling me into thinking she was harmless so she was able to overpower me easily when an opportunity struck?

Almost as though she could read my thoughts in my eyes, the smile dropped from her face as quickly as it had appeared and I cringed with her as she attempted to roll to her other side, to face away from me. I stood, almost from instinct, as she turned her back on me and heard a frightened little whimper as she curled even more tightly into herself.

I deflated slightly, my shoulders sagging as I realised that I had both offended and frightened away my potential company for the evening.

About to drop back onto the stool, resigned to another night of dull solitude, I stiffened at the sound of voices at the top of the stairs then footsteps making their way down towards us. A sudden scuffling from the cell beside me caught my attention and when I looked, Isabella was standing, her eyes averted to the ground my cloak held out to me in a shaking hand.

"What?" I questioned, confused and conscious of the footsteps coming closer.

"Please," she begged, her good eye flashing to me, pleading with me. "Please. You must take it. Please."

Unable to bear the desperation in her voice, I took the cloak from her outstretched hand and watched as she retreated fearfully back into the shadows. My eyes stayed on her, alarmed at the terror in her expression until the footsteps landed at the bottom of the steps.

A young woman stood there, carrying a small tray with a plate of bread and cheese, a small wooden cup and a pitcher of water. Hesitating, she looked around before spotting the stool, where she deposited the tray, offering me a small smile. Amazed by her friendliness, the first I had experienced since arriving there from anybody but the person I was sent to guard, I almost forgot to thank her. She was already making her way up the stairs when I remembered myself.

"Thank you," I said, causing her to turn on the steps and face me with a smile. "Thank you...," I said again, hoping to learn her name with the question in my voice.

"You're welcome, sir," she replied, still smiling pleasantly. I had started to believe that smiling was against the law in this castle. She left me then, not offering her name, but her smile had at least warmed me a little.

I hadn't even realised how hungry I was until, scenting the simple meal on the stool, my stomach growled loudly in the ringing silence.

Tearing into the bread, I began to eat greedily, almost forgetting I wasn't alone until I felt her eyes on me again. Turning, I saw her watching me from the shadows, her eye focused not on the food I was eating but the pitcher of water left untouched on the tray. Looking between the pitcher and her gaze a few times, I could easily identify the look of longing she was watching it with, as though it was some sort of mirage that would disappear if she took her eyes off it.

When I reached out and lifted the jug by its handle, her eyes dropped immediately to the ground and she shifted back impossibly further into the wall.

Filling the small cup with water, I put the keys down on the tray and walked slowly to the bars of her cell. I could picture vividly the dry, chapped lips and sore, peeling skin of her face that spoke of dehydration and thirst and my conscience would not allow me to sit and drink before her as she suffered.

"Here," I said softly, holding the cup through the bars for her. She eyed me with distrust for several moments before turning from me and sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest. As she turned, the light caught her eye and I could see the tears that glistened there.

"Take it," I urged. "It's water. You must be thirsty."

Though she was facing away from me, I could clearly hear the soft sob she let out as she buried her face in her knees, her head shaking slowly from side to side.

"I won't hurt you," I said softly, trying to coax her back out of her corner, but she remained there, motionless. I could see the tension in her arms that held her knees to her chest, forcing her to stay where she was and it occurred to me that water may have been offered to her before.

"I won't hurt you," I repeated, "And I won't take it away from you. Here," I said, then placed the cup just inside the bars where she could retrieve it, and then walked away.

She didn't move for the longest time and, just as I was beginning to think she would never take the water, her head twisted around, still on her knees, to look at the cup. She eyed it and then me suspiciously several times, but it was easy to see the look of longing she appraised the cup with.

I stayed quiet and motionless, my back pressed against the bars of the cell behind me, as far from her and the cup as I could get without leaving my post, and watched her hopefully. Finally, painfully slowly, she began to uncurl her body, falling down to her hands and knees and crawling towards the cup cautiously, never taking her gaze from mine. Her slender fingers closed around the cup as I watched, a small smile tugging at my lips as she began to lift it.

Staying silent, I watched as the cup slowly left the stone floor, but shook so violently in her trembling hands that most of the water spilled out onto the ground, leaving her with only the smallest drop left. Without even thinking, I moved forward, picking up the pitcher to refill the cup and plucking the keys from the table. As I let myself into her cell, she scrambled back to get as far away from me as she could, the cup abandoned on the ground where she dropped it.

"I'm sorry," I started, holding my hands up with the pitcher still clutched tightly in my right hand. "I didn't mean to alarm you." She didn't respond, just curled tightly into herself, face down on the ground so that only her back faced me. I could hear her whispering something, repeating the same words over and over, but I couldn't make them out.

Crouching down, I refilled the cup and shuffled my way forward until I was right beside her. I could clearly make out her words now as she whispered on and on, seemingly to herself.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The words went on and on in an endless loop, shattering my heart as she whimpered and cowered away from me.

"Isabella," I whispered softly, placing my hand lightly on her back, making her jump slightly but garnering no other response. "Here." I leaned forward, running my hand down her arm and pulling it gently from under her then placed the cup in her shaking hand, holding it steady with my own. She remained motionless, but for the trembling that seemed to roll through her entire body. I could feel a painful rattling in her chest under the hand that remained on her back as she breathed slowly in and out and wondered how much longer her lungs would stand up to the cold and the damp of the dungeons.

Her small hand felt like ice under mine, its trembling muted by my grip as I spoke gently to her.

"Isabella, I'm going to help you to sit. Then I will help you to drink the water. I won't hurt you, alright? I just want to help."

She didn't say anything in response, but neither did she fight me when I twisted my arm around her shoulder and pulled her up lightly until she was kneeling beside me, swaying dizzily. Her hand was still under mine, gripped around the cup and my arm stayed around her shoulder in an attempt to steady her.

Lifting our hands around the cup to her lips, I helped her to tilt it and she began to drink, slowly at first in tiny sips, then, when she realised I wasn't taking the cup away from her, she started to take great gulps, her eyes closing in pleasure as though she was drinking the sweetest nectar and not mere water.

It wasn't enough. I could see that from the dejected expression on her face when the cup was empty. I had no idea how long she had been left without water and I knew better than to think she would tell me, so I reached for the pitcher, standing a few feet away and refilled the cup, bringing it to her lips once more.

She hesitated again at first, turning to face me with questions in her expression, but I merely smiled reassuringly and nodded to the cup for her to drink while she had the chance. She did, and once the cup was once again empty, she gazed at me as though I was the messiah himself.

"Thank you, sir," she whispered, looking at me through her one good eye as the other strained to open against the swelling there. Her eye was the deepest brown you could imagine, wide and soulful, and I could only imagine how beautiful she must have been before the beatings marred her face.

"You're welcome. Are you hungry?" I enquired, beginning to stand and leaning her back against the bars gently. "I'm sure you must be."

She didn't answer me for the longest moment. She just sat there with her head leaning back against the bars of the cell looking painfully tired.

"Here," I said decisively, leaving the cell and returning with the bread and cheese. "Share my meal and then you can rest. No harm will come to you while I'm on duty. Take my cloak for warmth and I will wake you before they return."

She looked up at me, her mouth open in surprise as I pushed some bread and cheese into her still shaking hand.

I wanted to ask her so many questions. I wanted to know how she came to be here, what she could possibly have done to earn herself such treatment. Had she no family? No friends to vouch for her?

She stared at the food in her hand as though she didn't know what to do with it, as though food was a long forgotten concept. It tore at my heart to think about the possibility of that being the case.

"Why are you doing this?" Her voice was barely a whisper, only just audible above the dripping of the water down the stone walls and her eyes did not meet mine as she asked.

I crouched down before her, leaning my forearms on my knees and trying to ignore the way she flinched at my proximity.

I didn't know how to answer her question. How did I tell her that I felt drawn to her, that despite what I'd been told about her, I failed to see the powerful sorcerer I had been warned of? All I could see was a frightened young woman who had been hurt horrifically.

"You need somebody to help you. Here," I said, pulling my cloak once more from around me and handing it to her. She eyed it carefully for a moment, her expression full of longing, but she turned, shaking her head slowly.

"Do you know what they will do to you if they find out what you're doing?" she asked, refusing to meet my eyes. I couldn't fathom why, but I needed to see her face. I needed to see the innocence there that had me convinced she was no witch. I reached out, slowly as to avoid startling her, and touched her cheek lightly. Her breathing hitched and her eye went wide, but she didn't look at me.

Curling a finger under her chin, I nudged her face up until she grudgingly met my eyes, still looking so afraid.

"I'm aware," I finally answered her, holding her stare. And I was. I knew all too well the possible penalty for going against my orders and helping a prisoner of Lord Aro's. What I couldn't work out was why, somewhere deep inside myself, I felt that she was worth it. That the possibility of being led to the gallows as a traitor would be worth what small comfort I could give to this desperate woman in need.

Sitting down beside her, taking an obscene risk with the cell door standing open, I motioned to the food in her hand, encouraging her to eat, depositing my cloak on the ground before her. Her eye remained on me as she brought the food to her mouth and took a small bite, as though she was waiting for me to rip it away from her.

"How long have you been here, Isabella?" I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.

She looked confused for a moment before she replied. "I don't know."

I could understand that. Day looked very much like night down there and with as much sleep as I imagined she was getting, it would be easy to be confused. It was hard to distinguish the dark circles beneath her eyes from the bruises that littered her face, but I would have wagered that she slept very little in that cold, hard cell with no comfort from anywhere.

"What happened?" I wanted to know everything about her, but more than anything, I wanted to know how she found herself down here, a prisoner, accused of witchcraft. "How did you end up here?"

She looked frightened for a moment, suspicious, as though she believed I was interrogating her somehow, trying to trick a confession out of her. I wanted to be hurt by her distrust, but I had no idea what she had been through; I had no right to be offended.

"You don't have to answer. I'm just curious, that's all."

She watched me for a moment, searching my face as though hunting for the truth there. She appeared to find it as she sighed heavily, looking down at her hands before speaking softly.

"My father, he survived the great sickness. People were dying all over and I thought I would lose him, too. I nursed him. I was so sure he was lost when the terrible sores appeared and the fever was raging in his head, but he came back to me. He came back to me." Tears were streaming down her face now and small sobs interrupted the flow of her words. She wouldn't look at me, but she kept going, her hands rigidly clutching one another as she fought to keep her composure. "I didn't do anything extraordinary. I swear it. I'm not a witch. I don't know how he survived, but now I'm not even allowed to be happy that he did. All they saw was that I nursed him and the sickness left him."

Her hands started shaking as she finally looked up at me, her expression pleading with me, but for what, I didn't know.

"They came for me that night. My father was barely able to sit, but they forced me to leave him. I didn't... I'm not..." She trailed off, crying hopelessly as her head fell back against the bars behind her with a small bump.

"Isabella," I whispered softly, my hand touching hers lightly. She looked down to my hand on hers, tears still falling silently down her face. "Isabella, look at me," I urged, squeezing her hand gently.

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes squeezing tightly shut against her tears, then she took a deep breath and slowly met my concerned gaze.

"I believe you," I said firmly, holding her hand just a little tighter. "I believe you, and I'm going to do everything I can to help you."

"You can't help me," she answered, looking back down to our joined hands. "I'm not simple. I know there's only one way out of here for me now." The complete lack of hope in her voice pulled at my heart, and before I knew it, I was holding her, her head against my chest and my arms circled gently around her small form.

"You can't think like that," I said softly into her hair. "You must not fall into despair. Let me help you. At least let me try."

Her body trembled in my arms as she remained silent. My hands moved up to her head, softly stroking down the length of her horribly tangled curls. My fingers tried to pull the knots apart but at her first gasp of pain, I stopped instantly, apologising quietly.

"Let me try," I said again and felt her head moving minutely in a small nod. "Thank you," I breathed in relief that maybe, just maybe now she wouldn't give up hope.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I still don't own Twilight. I'm just doing mean, mean things to her characters. It's all hers. **

**A/N: So there I was, just sitting around bored yesterday and I thought to myself, maybe I'll check my emails... I was stunned when I did. Thank you so much to Cris for reccing me on her amazing fic, Wisp. I am beyond honoured and thank you to everybody who alerted and/or reviewed. You were all so kind to my little story and I'm so grateful to you all for that. In return, here's part three of the adventure. I hope you like it. :) **

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**Servatis A Maleficum**

**Chapter 3**

The darkness of the dungeons slowly began to fade to a dull grey as the sun began its daily ascent and I reluctantly opened Isabella's cell. The clanking of the keys in the lock startled her awake and I could see the beginnings of panic in her features as her face darted around in fear.

She had slept soundly through the night and I watched over her, irrationally fascinated by the simplest things. The way her chest rose and fell rhythmically beneath the soft wool of my cloak, the way her small fingers clutched the edges of the cloak so tightly I was certain they would snap, the way the swelling around her eye seemed to reduce through the night so that when she sat bolt upright in horror at my entrance, both her eyes landed on me, wide and afraid.

"Hey, it's okay. It's only me. I thought it best to wake you now. It's beginning to get light."

She didn't say anything. She simply nodded, carefully disentangling herself from my cloak and handing it to me without meeting my eyes. She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, attempting to chew on it for a moment before wincing at the soreness and stopping. I stood beside her, my cloak grasped in my hand, at a loss for what to say to her. It seemed all her fear and apprehension had returned over night and I didn't know how to abate that.

I wanted to reach out and touch her bruised cheeks, erasing the pain of her injuries with my touch, but the way her hands were shaking by her sides as she stared at the ground made me hesitate.

"Isabella," I said softly, afraid of scaring her by simply speaking. I watched as she tensed and a short, sharp breath escaped her. I took a step back, afraid that I was frightening her with my proximity but at my movement her eyes shot up to meet mine and, instead of the fear I expected to see radiating from them, all I saw was a deep sadness that I couldn't bear.

"They'll be here soon?" she asked in a whisper, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. My eyes fell closed as I nodded in response, unable to witness the fear that would surely wrack through her fragile body at the thought.

"I'm so sorry," I said softly, forcing my eyes to look at her. I took a step forward, taking her small hand in mine and squeezing it gently. "I wish I could stop them. I wish I could protect you from this."

Her hand was freezing, in spite of my efforts to give her what warmth I could overnight. Without thinking, I tugged lightly on her hand, bringing her into my chest where I enveloped her in my arms, trying to rub some heat into her trembling body. It seemed like a useless gesture considering the fate that likely awaited her when the other guards came to take her away, but I just felt like I needed to do something.

Her body was rigidly tense in my arms, her fear not allowing her to relax for even a moment as the cell grew lighter and lighter around us. At the first sounds from above, we jumped apart and I could see the terror in her eyes as she shrank back into the corner, sinking to the ground and pulling her knees up to her chest as though making herself as small as possible could protect her.

"Oh, God," I murmured to myself, my hands flying up to tug at my hair as I backed out of the cell, leaving her alone and completely vulnerable. As the lock clicked home, my heart sunk into my feet at the sight of her. I wanted so desperately to just scoop her up and run, get her away from that place, to save her from another day of whatever torments the supposed men of God had concocted for her.

"I'm so sorry," I choked out, my heart in my stomach as the inevitable footsteps sounded on the steps.

I tried to force an expression of blank indifference onto my face as the men appeared, only two of them this time, neither of whom I recognised. The man on the left nodded to me to open up the cell and I moved forward slowly, fumbling with the keys deliberately. I knew well which key opened her cell, but went through each one slowly anyway, knowing I couldn't hold them off indefinitely but believing that every moment the door remained locked was a moment of pain spared for her.

Finally though, I couldn't delay any longer and the door opened with a click that echoed the sound of my stomach dropping to my feet. Isabella didn't move, but it was obvious from where I stood that her whole body was rigid and trembling in fear.

My eyes shot open in alarm when the heavy, iron restraints were pushed into my hands with an expectant look from the guard.

They wanted me to be the one to put them on her.

How could I do that to her?

I hesitated for a moment before feeling a strong push from behind that catapulted me towards her tense form.

"I, uh..." I started, looking helplessly at the cold metal in my hands, wishing I could be anywhere but there.

"The keys are in your hand, Mason," a rough voice barked from behind me.

"Right. Yes," I mumbled, moving forwards, approaching Isabella cautiously, hoping and praying that they would believe it was through fear of her magics and not reluctance.

I dropped to my knees in front of her, with my back to the guards who stood like sentinels in the doorway. Then, with trembling hands, I plucked her wrists from around her knees, screaming apologies with my eyes as I tenderly closed the iron manacles around them. I locked them loosely into place, hoping that the other guards would fail to notice that they weren't cutting into her flesh like the previous day.

"I'm so sorry," I mouthed silently to her when her eyes briefly met mine before dropping back down to her knees hopelessly. I could see her body trembling so violently that she almost seemed to move as I reached down to her feet to attach the leg irons that would render her completely helpless. Again, I fixed them loosely so they wouldn't cause more painful abrasions on her wrists and ankles, then with my hands under her arms, I lifted her carefully to her feet where she stood with her eyes averted to the ground. I could easily see, though, the tears that fell like raindrops from her eyes and I had to fight a fierce battle against my desire to wipe them away.

I realised that I hadn't been given the black hood that had covered her head the previous day and turned, almost bumping into the shoulder of one of the guards who strode forwards, the sack-like bag in his hands.

He didn't seem afraid of her like the others when he tilted her face up to look at him, pinching her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"We're going to get a confession today," he said menacingly, with an evil glint in his eyes that sent shivers down my spine.

Isabella's eyes were wide with fear as he forced her to look at him. I could see shadows of the pain he was causing her flitting across her face but she fought valiantly to hide it. She said nothing as he roughly pushed her face to the side then pulled her back against him with a thick hand around her throat. "And I'm going to enjoy getting it," he finished before thrusting the bag over her head, hiding her face from me.

I heard the softest of whimpers from beneath the thick fabric and the terrified sound almost brought me to my knees. I could feel bile rising up in my throat and forced myself to swallow it down. The last thing she or I needed was for the other guards to suspect that I wasn't one hundred percent committed to the cause.

As he began to drag her away from me, I inadvertently took a step forward, my hand twitching at my side, desperately wanting to reach out to her and offer comfort. I forced myself to stop and allow her to be led away, comforting myself with the idea that I could hold her in my arms again in a few hours. Hours I was free to spend sleeping while she endured God only knew what.

Once they were gone, I dropped to my knees on the hard stone floor, my hands tearing at my hair as I fought against the urge to go after her. She was so small, so vulnerable and all I could see was the terror in her eyes as the guard announced his intentions to force a confession from her. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, trying to force the image from my mind but it stayed in place, firmly lodged beneath my eyelids.

Finally, I stumbled up from the floor, forcing myself to leave that cursed place and I headed blindly in the direction of the sleeping quarters. There were a couple of men already in there, using the washing facilities as I stumbled past them and practically fell into my bed. I was exhausted once more, my body still fighting against the nocturnal pattern I was trying to force it into. My eyes stung in the daylight they were not accustomed to as I forced my hands to remove the chain mail and my tunic before slipping under the blanket.

Closing my eyes, my mind was once more emblazoned with images of Isabella, the fear in her eyes, the trembling of her hands, the cold snap of the metal restraints as I betrayed her trust in the worst way. My heart thumped painfully hard and fast in my chest as I dared to wonder what they were doing to her in that moment. Rubbing my sore eyes roughly, I sat back up, knowing I could find no rest while she was clearly getting none.

Pulling my tunic back on I stood once more and made my way back out into the corridor, ignoring the confused stares of the other men as I went. I knew very little about the castle, having only really spent time in the dungeons and the place I slept. If I was going to find a way to help Isabella, the first thing I would need to know was the layout of the castle that held her prisoner. My mind turned over and over ideas of escape as I wound my way through endless passages, memorising routes and landmarks until I found myself once again in the courtyard that had been the scene of my arrival here.

At the sight of the thick iron portcullis and the raised drawbridge beyond, I began to despair. Maybe Isabella was right. Maybe there was only one way out of this castle for her. But I was damned if I would stand by and allow an innocent woman - this innocent woman - to burn.

There had to be something I could do.

I turned around on the spot, my hands running down my face in despair as I eyed the solid stone all around. How could I believe that I could smuggle a suspected witch out of an impenetrable fortress that even the French army had failed to conquer?

Dejected, I headed back inside, making straight for the dormitory, knowing I would be less than no use to Isabella later if I had no sleep. I was also hungry and had no idea where to find sustenance. The only food I'd had since my arrival was the small meal I'd shared with Isabella and my stomach was loudly making its feelings known in the otherwise silent corridors.

Entering the dormitory, I made my way to my bed cautiously, seeing another thick built man sitting on the bed beside mine, apparently polishing his sword.

He looked up at me as I approached and I was surprised when I saw a friendly smile overtake his face. I returned his smile, happy to finally see a friendly face in this depressing place.

"You look like horse dung, my friend," he said with a grin. Then added, "No offence intended," with a wink.

"None taken," I replied with a chuckle. "That'll be the night shifts."

"Night shifts," he repeated with a raised eyebrow then seemed to think for a moment before a look of realisation swept across his face. "You're the new prison guard?"

I nodded, wary of the curious expression on his face that he quickly smoothed over into a smile.

"So, rumour has it that you're guarding a dangerous prisoner down there?" he hedged, trying and failing to hide his interest.

"Dangerous," I scoffed before I could stop myself, but instantly regretted it at the sight of his raised eyebrow.

"Not dangerous?" he asked, leaning in almost conspiratorially.

Fumbling for words to save this situation before I exposed myself to this unknown man, I foolishly stammered my way through an explanation that wasn't an explanation at all and he knew it. It was just nonsense jumbled up together and I sighed, knowing I was giving myself away and putting both myself and Isabella in danger.

The unknown soldier held my gaze with his, his piercing blue eyes boring into me, reading my expression before he looked back down and continued to polish his sword, muttering, "I heard she's a witch," nonchalantly.

I sighed heavily, my head falling down as my elbows rested on my knees.

"Yes. So I've been told."

"Forgive me, friend, but you don't seem all that convinced."

"It's not my place to determine whether or not the prisoner is guilty," I started, attempting to appear uninterested and not entirely sure I was successful. "My job is to make sure she stays in her cell."

The man smiled knowingly before putting his sword aside and holding his hand out to me to shake. I shook his hand as he smirked at me with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm McCarty, Emmett McCarty and you, my friend, are the first soldier I have heard refer to Isabella as she and not it."

I gaped at him open-mouthed, too many things soaring through my head at once to comment and before I had my wits about me again, he was gone.

Isabella. He knew her name. Not only did he know her name but he seemed happy that I didn't refer to her with the usual derogatory language the soldiers used. How did he know her? And why did he walk away before I had the chance to ask him?

Realising that my depleted body didn't have the energy to pursue him, I groaned and fell back on the bed, not bothering to pull the blanket over me as I wavered between awake and asleep, my full mind too active to sleep soundly. But I was at least half rested when I sensed somebody standing beside me and jerked awake suddenly.

"You're awake." Emmett McCarty was standing beside my bed with a plate in one hand and a wooden cup in the other and smiling broadly as though our earlier conversation didn't end with him abruptly leaving.

"Apparently so," I said, yawning and sitting up to stretch out my protesting muscles, angry at me for sleeping in the cold without utilising the blanket.

"Here," he said, still grinning as though I hadn't scowled at him for waking me. "You should eat." He handed me the plate, which contained some chicken along with a repeat of the previous night's bread and cheese. It was simple food that filled my yawning stomach as I devoured it. Staring down at the empty plate, I hoped that the young lady who brought the food last night would show again. I hated the thought that I had eaten already and Isabella could spend the night hungry.

"Thank you," I said, eyeing Emmett suspiciously as he watched me eating looking almost amused.

"Not a problem, friend. I remember my first days here. Nobody told me where the dining halls were, either. I think I went hungry for nigh a week before I followed my growling stomach to the kitchens."

I laughed loudly at that, the sound unnatural and alien in my throat after the almost silence I had so quickly become accustomed to.

"Here, you still have some time before sunset. I can show you to the kitchens. Mrs. Cope pretends to be a dragon, but once you have her on your side, you'll have extra rations for life." He chuckled at his own joke and waited patiently while I washed and reluctantly pulled the chain mail back on. It seemed ridiculous to me to wear something so uncomfortable to guard somebody as un-threatening as Isabella, but that was the uniform.

Once I was ready, Emmett led the way through more stone corridors that all looked the same to me. I was certain I would never be able to navigate my way around as easily as he seemed to. I started when I realised I was walking down the familiar passage that led to the dungeons, but instead of heading down the last set of stone steps, we walked straight past. I was sure I saw Emmett's eyes flashing to the stairwell with an unreadable expression on his face, but he remained silent and led me on.

Eventually he led me to a wide, airy kitchen that was bustling with activity. An elderly looking woman with grey curls peeking out from under a cloth cap seemed to be in charge, barking orders to various people who immediately jumped to obey her. It took her a moment to notice us standing in the doorway but when she did, she growled before bustling over to us.

"Emmett McCarty, I just gave you two platefuls of food. It defies possibility that you can be hungry again already."

He laughed loudly, earning himself a reproachful glare then introduced me to Mrs Cope, explaining that I was the new night guard and wouldn't be fed if she didn't take pity on me.

I gave a weak half smile as she eyed me up and down, a sad expression flitting across her face briefly before she hid it and appraised me some more.

"He definitely wants feeding up," she muttered almost to herself. "Fine. I'll have some food and wine sent down to you in the night. I won't have anybody starving on my watch."

The way she emphasised the word "anybody" as she gave me a knowing look made me wonder whether she was referring to Isabella as a somebody, but I quickly pushed the thought to the back of my mind.

Emmett chatted away to me cheerfully as we walked back through the castle and he shook my hand, finally giving me an opportunity to tell him my name as we parted ways at the top of the stairs down to the cells.

"It was good meeting you, Mason," he said, his eyes drifting over my shoulder and down into the depths of the dungeons. "You just keep your eyes on that prisoner of yours," he offered before walking away, leaving me to wonder at his motives.

I descended to the cells, having seen from the kitchen windows that it was almost twilight, and sat on the stool to wait. I was restless, my feet tapping relentlessly on the stone floor as I waited what felt like a lifetime for the tell-tale clanking sounds that would signify their return. Isabella's return.

I started to pace back and forth, my hands tugging at my hair as I watched the stairwell growing darker and darker with no sign of their return. As all the natural light disappeared, leaving me in the dim glow of the lantern, my heart was thudding in my chest, certain that the worst had happened. She hadn't returned. As she had told me, there was no way they would have let her go, which left only one alternative.

I bent over as though I had been punched in the gut, retching painfully at the thought that I failed her - that they killed her and I did nothing to stop them. I could see her wide, brown eyes in my mind, staring up at me, trusting me to help her. Yet, after all my heroic words, all I did was clap her in irons and leave her to the wolves.

"Please, God, no!" I croaked out, falling to my knees and begging to the God these men claimed to serve for another chance to help her. I went through the usual platitudes and promises, meaning every word as I cried out that I would do anything if she would just return to me tonight.

I almost didn't believe my ears when, after what felt like hours of prayer, I heard voices approaching and the rattling of metal that was becoming eerily familiar.

I forced myself back to my feet as the sounds grew closer, then the same guard who showed no fear of her that morning came into sight, carrying a limp form in his arms. I hurriedly opened the cell, moving in before him, hoping if I was in the way it would force him to place her on the ground more carefully than the man who simply dropped her the previous night. Sniffing in disgust, the man lowered her to the ground, placing her on the hard ground as though deliberately ignoring the pile of straw right beside him.

I couldn't bring myself to look at her until we were alone, the footsteps of the guards retreating into the distance. Finally, I forced my eyes downwards, my heart almost singing at the sight of her chest rising and falling.

"Isabella," I whispered as I cupped her cheek softly. Her eyes remained closed, her breathing rhythmic and steady. She was unconscious once more, her face, thankfully, unmarred this time. But as I went to lift her, to move her to the straw where there would be at least a modicum of comfort for her, my hand felt wetness on her back. Sitting her slight form forwards so she slouched easily over my arm, I could see blood marring the back of her thin, once white shift. Feeling tears stinging at my eyes I forced myself to pull the stained material away, I felt my whole body react to the sight of the deep, painful welts that covered her back from her hips right up to her neck. They had whipped her until she was raw and bloody - until she passed out from the pain.

I held her in my arms, my hand cradling her head - the only place I could see was uninjured - as I wept for her. She was limp and lifeless in my embrace, her skin pale and cold. The only sign remaining that she lived were the rattling breaths she forced in and out of her lungs.

Wishing I'd had the foresight to bring supplies down with me, I awkwardly kept her in my arms as I unwrapped myself from my cloak and placed it around her loosely so as not to aggravate her wounds further.

"I'm so sorry," I said, over and over as I held her, hoping and praying that she would wake, while realising that at least while she remained unconscious she was free from the pain.

I sat there on the floor, holding her to me until my entire body was numb from holding the position for so long. I shifted slightly, moving to sit against the wall and stretching my legs out in front of me in an attempt to bring the feeling back. Her upper body lay face forward over my chest, her face resting on my shoulder as I ran my fingers tenderly through her hair, trying to remove some of the knots and tangles while she slept. I whispered quietly to her the whole time, wishing there was something more than platitudes that I could offer her. I told her everything would be alright, that I would find a way to get her out of there if it was the last thing I did. I shuddered deeply at those words, knowing full well that there was a very good chance that it could be.

What felt like a lifetime later, I felt a slight stirring in my arms and looked down to see that her face was no longer calm and peaceful, but scrunched up in pain. I moved my hand to cup her cheek, my thumb running lightly over the dry skin of her face as she began to move slightly. I could tell the moment she became fully conscious again when her body went rigid in my arms.

I closed my eyes tightly against the tears that threatened to spill over when I felt her frail body begin to shake in fear.

"Sshh, Isabella, it's me. It's Edward. You're safe. I won't hurt you," I crooned in an attempt to ease her panic. Without thinking, I dropped a soft kiss to her forehead, wishing I could smooth away the frown that puckered her brow. I rocked gently from side to side, trying desperately to relax her trembling body, but all I could read in her face was panic and pain. She tried to move, brushing her heavily welted back against my arm and I expected her to cry out in pain. But she said nothing. The only sign that she felt anything at all was the way her eyes shot open, wider than I would have believed possible and tears formed at their corners.

"It's okay. Be still. You're hurt. Just rest. Please, I won't hurt you, I promise." I was pleading with her, unable to bear the agony in her eyes each time she moved.

She stared up at me with misty eyes that appeared to be filled with concentration. It took me a moment to realise that it was her breathing she was focusing on. Each breath in was accompanied by a horrific rattling sound that echoed off the walls. My heart rate spiked with panic at the sound. It was like she was dying right in front of me and there was nothing I could do for her but hold her.

The awful sounds of her breathing mixed with the agony she wore all over her face steeled every ounce of resolve I possessed as I pictured my tour of the castle in my head, determined to find some exit, some weakness in the stronghold. Because if she stayed here, she wouldn't live much longer, whether it was the torture that killed her or the burning stake that she was sure would be her end. There was no way I could just sit here and do nothing to help her.

As her eyes started to drift closed once more and I felt her body slowly relaxing into sleep, I brushed a few stray hairs back from her face and dropped another soft kiss on her forehead, whispering, "It's going to be okay, Isabella. I'm going to get you out of here. Whatever it takes."


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: I know. I'm sorry. I fail at all the things. You all are so good to me and I know I suck at updating. I promise I won't abandon Cloaky and Isabella. Cross my heart. Work and uni are kicking my butt and I need more hours in the day! But here they are. They're still not mine, but the story is all from my dark little brain. I love you guys! **_

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**Servatis A Maleficum**

**Chapter 4**

I was so lost in my thoughts of rescue as I sat holding Isabella's sleeping form that I failed to notice the footsteps on the stairwell until it was too late.

A curious face peered into the darkness and my heart thudded into my boots as a pair of eyes landed on me cradling Isabella. My arms tightened ever so slightly around her defensively, causing her to whimper quietly in her sleep. There was nothing I could do. Whoever it was standing in the shadows must have seen what I was doing by now.

As they stepped forward slowly, my heart calmed somewhat when I recognised the familiar face of Mrs Cope. She was holding a tray with another plate of food and a large pitcher of water, and eyeing me cautiously.

She said nothing, bending down and placing the tray quietly on the stool before turning back to me and walking into the cell, to my astonishment. Her eyes only left mine once she was knelt beside me and her hand reached out and touched Isabella's face with far more tenderness than I believed anybody in this castle capable of.

"Please," I begged softly, not really sure what I was asking of her, but she seemed to understand nonetheless as she nodded and stood once more.

"I'll be back in a moment," she offered with a sad smile, her eyes fixated on Isabella's face. I nodded and watched as she disappeared up the stairs, waiting anxiously for her return and hoping against hope that when she came back she was alone.

It didn't take long before I detected her footsteps approaching once more, and when she came into sight, she was clutching a bowl with steam rising from it and there was what looked like a blanket tucked under her arm.

She set the bowl down beside me. It appeared to be full of hot water and there were several rags hanging over the edge.

"Where is she hurt?" Mrs Cope asked softly, her eyes darting between myself and Isabella sadly.

"How did you-?"

"My boy, I'm more than well aware what men of God are capable of. Now where is she hurt?"

"Her back."

"You'll have to help me. Hold her. This is going to hurt," she said, pulling the blanket off Isabella and using it to cover her modesty as she pulled the ragged shift away from her broken skin.

Isabella's eyes shot open at the intrusion and she whimpered, her eyes filling with tears as Mrs Cope began to slowly and gently clean her wounds with the warm water.

I held her head to my chest, my hand stroking her hair as she cried pitifully at the pain of the contact. She said nothing, simply endured the tearing agony in near silence, her hands balled into tight fists across her chest as she suffered.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know this hurts, but we can't have these cuts getting full of dirt," Mrs Cope said, her grim expression belying her cheerful tone as she surveyed Isabella's back.

"Please!" The pleading in Isabella's voice as she cried out softly had me reaching out to stay Mrs Cope's hands before I knew it.

"You have to stop."

"Mr. Mason, if these wounds remain dirty, she will be susceptible to all manner of diseases. I know it hurts her, but I'm doing her a kindness, I promise you."

"Give her a moment, for pity's sake," I begged, my hand releasing hers and taking Isabella's instead, holding it tightly in mine, hoping the small comfort would help her to endure this.

Brown eyes filled with tears met my own, their expression heartbreaking.

"Are you okay?" I asked stupidly, my free hand cupping her cheek delicately.

She nodded slowly, averting her eyes to hide the lie that was lodged there. She wasn't okay. She was far from okay. Nothing that had happened to her from the moment she entered this castle was okay, but like everything else, she seemed determined to bear it without complaint.

"May she continue?" I asked cautiously, watching her expression change. She nodded, scrunching her eyes tightly closed and clutching my hand with more power than I would have believed her capable.

She bore the remainder of Mrs Cope's ministrations without making a sound, though it was clear from the grip she kept on my hand that it was a challenge for her. There was nothing we could do about her bloodstained shift without drawing attention to our care, so we had no choice but the leave her wearing it and wrapped her up once more in my cloak, adding the blanket Mrs Cope brought down with her for extra warmth.

"She'll need to drink and try to eat something before she sleeps. She won't heal if she doesn't keep her strength up."

I nodded, glancing up at her with a mixture of gratitude and confusion as she brought the tray into the cell.

As though she sensed my confusion, she explained. "She's just a child - no more a witch than you or I. I told you, young man, I won't see anybody starve on my watch."

I nodded my gratitude and took the cup she offered, lifting Isabella up to sit. She limply allowed me to manipulate her body without making a sound. The only sign she was aware was the periodic widening of her eyes and sharp intakes of breath when her wounds brushed against the material around her, causing her what I could only presume was unimaginable pain.

I supported her to sit with a light hand on her shoulder, the only place I could touch without hurting her, and lifted the cup to her lips.

She drunk deeply automatically and I smiled at her new-found trust in me. I was only too aware of how difficult it had to be for her to even allow me to touch her, let alone to lie in my arms as she had. Her eyes never left mine as she drunk, watching carefully and I could feel some of the tension leave her body at my soft smile.

"You must eat, child," Mrs Cope said, holding out a small bit of bread from the plate with a smile. Isabella eyed the small offering warily, as though it were a wild animal, liable to pounce, then looked to me as though seeking reassurance. I nodded carefully, watching as she took her bottom lip between her teeth, wincing at the soreness there but not releasing it as she tentatively reached out to accept the bread from Mrs Cope's hand.

As she started to nibble at it slowly, I stroked her hair tenderly, dropping a light kiss to her forehead before addressing Mrs Cope.

"I have to get her out of here," I said bluntly, hoping against hope that I was putting my faith in the right person. She didn't say anything and, for the longest moment, I feared I had made a horrific mistake, until her face split into a concerned smile.

"Don't do anything hasty, Mason. Remember what tomorrow is. Even men capable of this," she gestured to Isabella's wounds, "wouldn't dare to act on the Lord's day. Give yourself time and find out who your friends are. I will do what I can to assist you, and I don't think I'm speaking out of turn when I say that young McCarty will, too."

At the mention of Emmett, Isabella's eyes jerked to Mrs Cope, the bread hanging forgotten in her hand, halfway to her mouth. Again I was struck by the thought that Isabella and Emmett somehow knew one another. After all, he knew her name and now she had clearly reacted to his.

Mrs Cope smiled knowingly at Isabella's expression before turning to me once more with a serious and pointed look.

"Nothing rash, Mr. Mason," she said with a final nod before leaving us alone once more.

Isabella continued to stare at the space Mrs Cope had vacated for several moments, before a yawn seemed to overtake her whole body and she turned back to me. I touched her hand, lifting it to her mouth in the hope that she would take the hint and continue to eat. Instead, her eyes flickered between the bread and my face, and to my despair, they started to fill again with tears.

"Hey, what is it?" I asked, touching her cheek softly with the backs of my fingers, brushing away the tears that started to fall. Her eyes dropped from my gaze and settled on the bread that remained uneaten.

"I can't," she whispered. "I'm sorry, I just can't."

She flinched violently as I reached up and closed my hand around hers and I shushed her gently. I took the bread from her hand, placing it on the plate Mrs Cope had left beside us and then cupped her cheek, forcing her eyes to meet mine.

"Do you trust me, Isabella?" I asked, hungry for an answer and praying for a positive. She hesitated for a moment before nodding almost imperceptibly. I smiled widely and dropped my forehead to rest against hers. "Good. Because I'm going to help you. I don't know how, but I will get you out of here. I just need you to hang on a little longer, okay?"

I felt her small nod against my forehead and my heart leapt into my mouth when I felt her small hand gripping my tunic tightly as she relaxed once more into my embrace.

"Sleep now. You need rest." She began to wearily disentangle herself from my embrace, until my hand on her arm stopped her. Her eyes darted up to mine, wide and alarmed until I brushed her cheek once more with the tips of my fingers. "Stay," I whispered, my arms tightening subconsciously around her, almost possessive. I couldn't fathom the reasons why, but the thought of losing the weight of her in my arms was monumentally painful, and despite my desire to refrain from frightening her, I wasn't sure I could let her go.

Thankfully, she didn't test my willpower; I honestly wasn't sure she had the energy to. She simply let her head fall back to my shoulder, keeping her wide eyes trained on me.

I could see the exhaustion that had practically taken root there as her blinks got longer and longer. I could see the internal battle she was fighting against falling asleep. She told me she trusted me, yet she was clearly fighting her instincts not to fall asleep in this dangerous place, lying in the arms of a man she barely knew.

Finally, she lost her battle against her own eyelids and I felt her body go completely limp in my arms as her breathing evened out. Her long, dark eyelashes dusted against her pale cheeks, fluttering lightly as her grip on my tunic loosened slightly. I covered her hand with my own, trying to encourage some warmth into her cool body and watched as she slept soundly.

I grappled with my brain as I held her, trying to figure out my emotions. I couldn't understand why it was suddenly so important to me that this girl trusted me, that she believed I could, and would, help her. And I couldn't work out why my heart hurt so badly at the thought of having to release her from my arms when the sun rose in the morning.

I counted the seconds, counted her breaths, wishing that the morning would never come, that we could stay this way forever. I willed the world to stop turning, for the sun to never rise and for Isabella to stay here, curled into my embrace, her head burrowing softly into my chest as my fingers ran gently through her tangled hair.

"It's going to be okay," I whispered into her hair when her body began to tense and she whimpered softly in her sleep. Her grip on my tunic tightened as she shrunk further into my arms. I shushed her gently, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face and tracing the lines of her frown with my fingers.

I started to hum softly to her, a lullaby my mother used to sing to me when I was a boy. It was melodic and soothing and I gradually felt the tension starting to leave her body as the quiet sound chased away her nightmares. I hadn't been able to save her from the tortures of those animals, but at the very least, I could give her some undisturbed rest.

As the night wore on, I found I was happy to while away the hours holding her and watching over her as she slept. The night seemed to pass by far too quickly as I learned her face by heart, silently memorising every line of her skin, the subtle curve of her cheekbones that were far too prominent and the hideous bruises that were brushed a painful shade of grey in the dim light.

She remained quiet and still for the remainder of the night. The only sound breaking the eerie silence was her rhythmic breathing, and the painful wheezing in her chest reminded me of just how much danger she was in if she remained here. Even in the unlikely event that they didn't decide to burn her, she could so easily die from the conditions she was being forced to endure here. Subconsciously, my arms tightened around her, my heart stuttering in rejection at the thought of losing her. Witch or not, she had certainly cast a spell over me and I couldn't bear to think of a future that didn't have her in it.

I wanted to cry out when the first fingers of light started to find their way down the stairwell, and I could make out the faint noises of the castle starting to come to life, indicating the start of another day. As much as I never wanted to release my hold on her, I knew that were the other guards to find Isabella in my arms, we would both be in danger.

Trying not to alarm her, I gently cupped her cheek, running my thumb softly under her eye and whispering her name as her eyes began to reluctantly open. I was disproportionately relieved when she smiled shyly at me, instead of falling into her previous pattern of fear on awakening.

"Hey," I said with a smile, still stroking her face absent mindedly. She smiled again and nodded, shifting slightly after being in the same position all night. "I'm sorry to wake you, but it's starting to get light. You understand..." I trailed off, feeling stupid and knowing that Isabella knew better than anybody why we couldn't be found this way.

She nodded and began to disentangle herself from my grasp and this time I allowed it, forcing back the whimper that threatened to escape at the broken contact. As she stepped away from me, I could see the tension returning to her body, her movements becoming robotic and forced as her face returned to the blank mask she was so adept at showing. The gentle curve of her shoulders began to slump and her posture was once again broken, defeated.

"Isabella," I said, more firmly than I'd intended, stepping forward and taking her chin between my fingers carefully, nudging her face up to meet mine. "Trust me." She nodded but the assertion did not meet her carefully guarded eyes. "You're not alone anymore, Isabella. Mrs Cope swore to me that they will leave you be today. I will not let them hurt you again. Do you hear me? I will get you out of here if it kills me."

I held her gaze firmly with mine, imploring her with my eyes to believe and trust in my word to her.

"Edward," she whispered after a moment, almost inaudibly, as her arm stretched out and her fingers closed once more around the material of my tunic. My hand dropped from her face and fell to cover her shaky one, squeezing it lightly in reassurance. Her eyes flickered down to our joined hands briefly before meeting mine once more. "I don't..." she started, then trailed off as tears started to fill her eyes as she averted her gaze from mine. "I can't..." she tried again, once more trailing off as a sob tore through her small frame like an avalanche.

"It's okay," I offered, reaching out with my free hand and tenderly stroking her hair.

"No, it's not. I don't want you to be killed because of me," she finally forced out through her wracking sobs as salty tears streamed down her cheeks relentlessly.

"Then I suppose we'll have to both get out of here then," I said, smiling and squeezing her hand once more. She looked as though she was about to protest once more when we both froze in place at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Her eyes went wide, terrified as she shrunk back into the shadows of the cell, once again curling into herself protectively in the posture that silently broke the shards of my heart.

"Trust me," I whispered once more, darting out of the cell with the evidence of our night and locking it swiftly and quietly, just in time as the irritated face of Felix appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Relieved, I took in the fact that he carried no torturous iron restraints, and made no move to enter the cell where she was cowering in fear.

"You're not taking he- it anywhere today?" I hedged, forcing their name for Isabella out through clenched teeth that I hoped Felix would assume were the result of my disgust for her and not the word I was forced to use.

"It's Sunday," he replied easily, as though the agony they inflicted on her was just fine in the eyes of God on any other day, but not on the sabbath.

"Right. Yes," I agreed, wishing I could do more to reassure both myself and Isabella that she wouldn't be harmed today.

I walked away. I had no choice, though my entire being rebelled at the idea of leaving her alone with a man who saw her not as a person but as a thing. A thing filled with evil, at that.

****The moment I reached the corridor at the top of the stairs, I turned, not for the sleeping quarters, though my entire body protested the move, but for the kitchens. I needed to speak to Mrs Cope. I needed to know anything she knew that could help me to save Isabella before it was too late. I made her a promise and I intended to keep it.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Hi there, shiny people! I know it's been a while again, but I'm celebrating completing a uni assignment by giving you more words. Thank you all for your kind reviews for the last chapter. You are all so sweet to me. I appreciate it more than you know. Enjoy the chapter. :)**_

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**Servatis A Maleficum**

**Chapter 5**

"I need to speak with you," I said quietly, taking Mrs Cope's arm and pulling her to one side of the bustling kitchen. She looked up at me with surprise and I felt guilt shoot through me at the dark circles under her eyes. I knew that her lack of sleep was due to her helping me in the dungeons in the night. Still, I comforted myself with the thought that it was her choice to do so.

"Not here. Not now," she warned, her eyes darting around at the busy kitchen that seemed to be teeming with staff busily preparing breakfast for the castle's inhabitants.

"But-" I began to protest, but was cut off easily with her warning glare.

"We won't be helping anybody from the inside of a cell, my boy. Now hush. I will speak with you later. Right now I have a household to feed. I suggest you get some rest and speak to young McCarty. There isn't a thing goes on inside this castle gets by his notice. That's what he's paid for, after all."

I jolted at that, realising that I didn't really know what his role in the castle was. Only that it apparently required a sword and full armour, not just chainmail. Was I taking an unnecessary risk in believing I could trust this man to help me?

I pondered over this as Mrs Cope dismissed me, telling me to get out of her kitchen and swatting at me with a rolling pin when I hesitated.

Somehow, Emmett's connection to Isabella - and I was certain there was one - seemed vitally important. It was clear to me that there was something there. He knew her name and she reacted to his the previous night when Mrs Cope mentioned him.

Determinedly, I dragged my weary body quickly towards the sleeping quarters, hoping that Emmett would be there when I arrived, and I wasn't disappointed. He was sitting on the end of his bed, concentrating hard on polishing his armour. I approached him quickly, wanting, no, needing answers.

"You know her," I stated simply as I came to a stop before him, leaving no room for argument.

He looked up as though he was surprised to see me standing there. He was quiet for a moment, his eyes seeming to weigh me up before he looked back down at his armour and began to polish it again, less vigorously than before.

"I do," he replied finally, his voice barely a whisper. I waited a long moment before realising that was the only answer I was going to receive.

I could feel anxiety bubbling up in my chest and forcing its way into my throat, screaming at me that what I was about to do was ridiculous and dangerous, but I squashed it down, knowing that no matter what, I couldn't do this alone. Emmett's eyes were soft and full of kindness and I forced myself to believe that he would help me.

"I have to get her out of here," I whispered, sitting down beside him and resting my head in my hands and praying that this conversation wouldn't land me in the cell beside Isabella's.

"Admirable," he started, his hands stopping their polishing, but he didn't meet my eyes as he continued. "But it can't be done."

"I have to," I reiterated. "She'll die if she stays here."

His eyes shot up to meet mine then, blazing with a fire that I didn't know the meaning of.

"You and I both know that there are worse things that can happen to a person than death. Have you considered that maybe that's what Isabella wants? She's not the only person who will be killed if you try to break her out of here."

The anger that coursed through me at his words was so potent that it forced me to my feet once more, my hands curled into fists by my sides, aching to reach out and knock the inhumanity out of him.

"You would sooner see her killed than fight for her?" I seethed at him, my voice barely above a whisper, but my rage was clear in the tone as it slipped through my clenched teeth. He didn't look up at me, but his shoulders slumped, defeated.

"I would sooner see her killed than see what they will do to both of you if you are caught trying to help her escape. You have no idea what these people are capable of. You think because you've spent a few nights with her that you know them at their worst. Believe me, what you've seen, what Isabella has experienced, is only the tip of the iceberg. If you're caught, you will beg them for death before they give it to you. I'm not a cruel man, Mason. I want you to understand that, and I care for her, I do. But what you're trying to do is impossible. You want to smuggle a convicted witch out of one of the best guarded castles in the country. What you're talking about isn't mere folly, it's suicide."

"She's worth it," I replied eventually, my body still taut with the tension his words had created in me.

"Is she?" he asked seriously, finally looking up at me.

"Yes."

"You would die to save her?"

"In a heartbeat," I answered without a moment's pause.

He watched me for a moment, his eyes holding mine as though searching for a lie there. When he apparently found none, his face finally fell into a small smile and his shoulders relaxed once more.

"Then you're a fool, but I like you, Edward Mason," he said with a grin, offering me his hand, which I shook cautiously.

"Will you help me?" I asked hopefully as he rose to stand beside me.

"What do you need?"

"Mrs Cope told me that nothing happens in this castle that you don't know about," I started, watching as his face fell into another grin.

"And she'd be right."

"Then I need information. I need to know who will be where and when. I need a way out."

"You don't ask much, do you, Mason?" he joked, running his hand down his face and looking serious. "This isn't going to be easy, you know? Your chances of making it out of here alive and undetected are slim at best. Lord Aro is not a popular man. He has drained the people living on his lands virtually dry of resources and his unpopularity has made him paranoid. The castle is well guarded, night and day. The front of the castle is impossible and you know that the river protects the rear."

"The river?" I asked. This was news to me.

"Yes. The River Angeles. It runs along the rear of the castle. It's wide, fast flowing and damn near impossible to cross. No army has ever managed it."

"But I don't have an army," I hegded, my thoughts whirling with the idea of getting away across the river.

Was it possible? Could it be done? Isabella was so weak and she was injured and I hadn't swum in years. How would we ever navigate our way across a river that trained soldiers failed to cross?

"You should speak to Bella about the river," Emmett said, eyeing me carefully.

"Bella?" My ears pricked up at the name, and Emmett's face fell at my question. He didn't respond, just stared at his hands with wide eyes as I watched and waited.

"Who's Bella, Emmett?" I pushed, already certain I knew the answer.

He remained silent for a long while before he seemed to realise I wasn't going to let it drop. He sighed, his hands running down his face in frustration before he finally met my gaze with his own.

"It's what her father called her. What everybody called her. Everybody that knew her."

"And you? You knew her well enough to call her by this nickname?"

"Yes," he conceded, his face suddenly filled with sadness. I waited for him to continue, watching as his eyes glazed over as though he was lost in his own memories.

"I worry how Mister Swan is faring since she was taken away," he finally said, with what looked like guilt pulling the corners of his mouth down in a frown. "He relied on her, you see. She was never a child. Not really. She looked after her papa almost from the moment she could walk."

"Where was her mother?" I asked curiously, trying to build up a picture of the Isabella who existed before this all began.

"She died when Isabella was small. It was always just her and her papa, but they were happy. Everybody loved Isabella. You couldn't help it. She was one of those people, you know? She was kind to everyone, even the beggar children who everybody else shooed away. She used to give them apples, though they couldn't spare them. Not really. Old Charles used to watch her with a twinkle in his eye. He was proud of her, though he knew those children were likely eating his supper."

His voice was soft and his expression wistful as he told me about a person who was almost impossible to imagine from the frightened, broken young woman in the dungeons. I needed to get her out of there and bring back that sweet, caring girl who gave away her supper to the urchins who had nothing.

"You grew up together?" I questioned, desperate to learn more about her.

"We lived in the same village. We were meant to... I mean, I was... Things should have been so different. I let her down. Maybe she wouldn't be where she is now if we'd just gone ahead with it."

"With what?" I asked with a shaky voice, not sure why I dreaded his answer.

"The wedding," he replied, looking back down at his hands while confirming what I feared most. He and Isabella were intended for one another.

"You were to be married," I stated rather than asked him. He nodded once, a look of guilt creeping over his face, which he buried once more in his hands.

"We played together as children. She was like my shadow for years. One day I was swimming in the river. Isabella was only small but she followed me." He sniffed a humourless laugh. "She always did stupid dangerous things in order to keep up with me. I was like a big brother to her, you see. She could swim okay, but the current was too strong and it pulled her under almost immediately. All I heard was this tiny shriek before her head disappeared under the filthy water. We almost lost her that day. I managed to find her and tow her to the riverbank. Her father praised me to the heavens and our parents decided right then and there that we would be married someday. They didn't realise that in my head, I was already married."

I raised an eyebrow at him in question. I hadn't realised he was wed.

"I was married to the idea of being a soldier," he explained carefully, watching me as he spoke. "I failed her. I left her there and maybe..." he trailed off.

"Maybe if you were married, none of this would have happened," I finished for him. He nodded and I was appalled to see tears starting to mist over his eyes.

"I love her, I do. But I could never have loved her as a man loves a wife, not after I spent so many years loving her like an older brother. She is my sister in every way, but my lover? I couldn't."

"And," I started, my mouth suddenly painfully dry as I tried to ask the question I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer to. "Did she... Does she love you?"

He looked at me skeptically for a moment, before shaking his head. "No. She would have married me to please her father. She would do almost anything for him, but she wouldn't have been happy. Neither of us would have been happy and we both knew it."

I nodded, unable to explain the relief I felt, knowing that Isabella had no romantic attachment to this man. Having seen the terror in her eyes and the blood running down the insides of her legs, it pained me to wonder whether she would ever feel that way for any man. For me. Would she even survive long enough to try? The thought was a sober one and had me changing the topic of conversation from Isabella's past to her immediate future.

I pressed Emmett for information about the castle and its comings and goings. I wanted to know every detail, sure that there must be a weak link somewhere. No armour was perfect and I was certain that there had to be a chink in Lord Aro's somewhere. But, no matter what Emmett told me, my mind kept drifting back to the river. It seemed to me to be the only weak spot in his defences.

"You said Isabella can swim?" I interrupted as he was talking about guard changes and night watchmen.

"Uh, yes, she grew up beside the river. We could all swim almost before we could walk."

I smiled at the thought of a tiny Isabella, all chubby legs and thick, dark curls, splashing around in the river. Her small face in my mind was plastered with the same small smile she had graced me with briefly. I wanted to see that smile again. I wanted to see her face free from pain and fear, free from the painful marks that told of her suffering more eloquently than any words ever could. I had a need, deep inside me, to see her happy. I needed to see her free.

We talked for a while longer, formulating a plan and praying that it would work. I was terrified that Isabella's injuries would weaken her to the point where she would be unable to help herself. But it had to be tonight. I couldn't wait for things to be more certain. I had to get her out because I was certain that one more day alone with those men would be more than she could handle. She had been so strong and so brave for so long, but their tortures were working. They were slowly breaking her down and crumbling her spirits to dust beneath their pious feet and I needed her to be strong.

The invisible force that seemed to pull me to her tugged sharply, causing a splinter of pain through my chest, and I rose, ready to march down to the cell and be with her, regardless of the consequences. I needed to see her, to feel the weight of her in my arms and know that she was safe. A strong, thick hand on my chest stopped me in my tracks and Emmett glared down at me as though I had lost my mind. Maybe I had.

"Where are you going?" he asked, eyeing me accusingly.

"I just... I need to know that-"

"You're going to get yourself and Isabella killed if you don't stop acting with your heart instead of your head. Fools die in this castle, Mason. Don't be one of them. Get some rest or you'll be no use to her later."

I hesitated for a moment, that need tugging at me painfully, but it wasn't as painful as Emmett's fist as it connected with my shoulder.

"I mean it, Mason. If I have to have you locked in a cell, I will do. You will not get Isabella killed because you can't control your emotions. Love her, by all means. But don't put her at risk by doing something foolish."

Love her? What was he talking about? I barely even knew her. How could he have jumped from me caring for her to love.

"I don't... I mean... I'm not in love with her," I stuttered out, feebly.

"Of course you're not," Emmett replied skeptically, with one eyebrow raised. He clearly didn't believe me.

"I care for her. She's in trouble. I'd do the same for anybody in her position," I said, unsure who I was trying to convince.

"Would you?" I nodded. "And this insane need to get both of you killed by playing the hero? You would do that for anybody also?"

I grumbled something incoherent as I turned to my bed. He was right about one thing. If I didn't get some rest now, I would be no use to Isabella later. I promised her that I wouldn't let them hurt her again, and tonight, no matter what my feelings meant, I intended to fulfil that promise.


End file.
